


In Between

by Zymm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post Civil War, pre infinity war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zymm/pseuds/Zymm
Summary: After the breaking of the Avengers, and the rescue off the Raft, Wanda finds herself on the run with Steve Rogers and company. As they evade the damning Sokovia Accords and work to hunt down the remaining HYDRA threats, Wanda finds herself grappling with her murky past and what it may mean for her future. She quickly finds that she’s not the only one. Perhaps she and Bucky Barnes can help one another- if they can get past their mutual distrust.





	1. Chapter 1

When Steve finally comes, when rescue finally appears, a real miracle in itself, Wanda can’t bring herself to express gratitude. All that boils in her is bitter, nasty emotion, clawing its ways up her throat and into her tongue and she wants to yell. She wants to ask why, what took so long, how could they have let this happen.

She knows that’s irrational, and that they did their best. But the Raft had already poisoned her mind, already broken her, because  _ was it really a challenge she’s already not quite there just a mirage of someone that may have not even existed at all- _

__ But they’re here, and she tries her best to focus on the hands gripping her, the voices talking, but they all say the same thing. They all try to talk to her in their rapid-fire voices, increasing in worry each repetition. She wants to scream, wants to yell, still wants an answer as to what took them so long. 

But her voice isn’t working, even if it’s screaming inside her head. Or maybe it’s coming back, maybe her powers are slowly draining back into her, and it’s their head voices she’s tapped into. She’s not sure where the line is drawn because she can’t bring herself to distinguish it. 

Her vision dips in and out of focus and she tries to ground herself, to focus on what is real around her, just like Natasha taught her forever ago. She sees the people around her, but they don’t seem to have faces in her bleary state anymore. Wanda tries so hard to hold onto the sound of Steve’s voice asking her about her brother, trying to calmly keep her awake, but she’s sorry Steve, really, because she can’t even keep her eyes open another moment or it may kill her.

She wonders if they would’ve rescued her from the Raft if Sam and Clint hadn’t been there with her.

\--------------------

 

Wanda woke up to the sound of a chair moving, the legs scraping across a metal floor. The sound shoots straight through her heart like a shot of adrenaline, and she’s in motion like she was never out of it.

Natasha eyes her with one eyebrow posed upward, a thin smirk on her features. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You planning on doing something?” She asks sarcastically, one leg crossed over the other, looking downright cat-like. Wanda takes back her outstretched hand, but not before she brings close to her face. Strings of scarlet swirl in between her fingertips, shooting through her veins; it’s downright euphoric, and she wants to sob. 

“Yeah, you’ve still got it. They had you under some heavy stuff.” Natasha adds, a bitter tone entering her voice. She looks out a window beside Wanda’s bed, her eyes unfocused.

Wanda nods. She’s not sure what more there is to say about the subject, because it all seems like too much too soon right now. She focuses on the fact that she is safer than before, that she is among her ‘friends’. 

They’re in some sort of hotel room, a dingy little thing with peeling walls and low lights. It’s a rather small room, with one queen bed that Wanda seemed to have already claimed while under. A window next to her proudly displays a seedy parking lot, factory buildings looming in the distance.

Wanda opens her mouth to speak, but instead finds her voice to be pathetically horse, a raspy, low growl. Natasha can clearly see the confusion on her face, and offers a small, light smile.

“The collar they had on you was a bit too tight.” Natasha said simply. Wanda feels her stomach clench, because the last thing she wants is her pity. But Natasha doesn’t give it, and for that, Wanda is welcome. 

“We’re in a little place in Scotland. Ayr, if you’ve ever heard of it. We couldn’t really transport an unconscious girl in any public transportation, so we landed on the coast and prayed there would be a town nearby.” Natasha began, knowing Wanda was hungry for information. Wanda thought the weather was a good indication as to where they were- it was bleak and rainy, with trails of water running lazily down the window. There was thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance.

Wanda had never been to Scotland, but she’d always wanted to. Mainly because Pietro had, but that was another lifetime ago, another shared dream between them now lost to time.

“We found a little motel that didn’t ask many questions. There’s a few rooms here. Bucky and Steve are in town, hopefully keeping a low profile.” Natasha sighed. “But I have my doubts.”

Wanda nodded. She knew the appropriate thing would be to give a small smile back, a little way for them to shake their heads over the headstrong nature of men, but Wanda found herself blank.

“Clint and Scott are back in America. They think they can maybe bargain, since they have families and all. Clint said he’d tell us what the verdict is whenever he can.” 

Natasha must notice the sharp movement of Wanda’s head as she looked up at her, a clear sign of hurt on her features. 

“You’ve been out for almost a week, Wanda. Clint told me to tell you goodbye, and that he’d talk to you when it’s safe.” 

Wanda reddened, feeling strangely vulnerable under the assassin's all-knowing  gaze. It was no secret that she tended to form attachments, to find a safety and hold it for dear life. Clint had taken her and Pietro in when they’d had no one, not a soul to care about them but plenty to hate them. Pietro had died for him.

He was like a father she’d never quite had, and she hates that she feels that attachment, that weakness that could potentially disappoint her. But Clint was a kind soul in her world full of rough ones. 

“Five days?” Wanda croaked out, the words barely understandable. Natasha seemed to understand, though.

She nodded. “They had you incredibly drugged- I guess in an attempt to make sure you didn’t try anything. It was disgusting.”

Natasha spits the words, as if she is used to being held down and treated like a monster. Wanda feels a bit of understanding for her, but she also feels a voice inside her that scoffs at the comparison between the two women. Natasha couldn’t understand completely.

It’s sad that part of Wanda understands why they drugged her so much, almost feels  _ sympathetic  _ in a twisted way. They were only taking precautions, because she really was a ticking time bomb, and in her fury could easily kill, maim, destroy. She understood why they did it, and barely judged them for it. Maybe that was where she belonged.

“They should be out of your system, for the most part. Or so we assume. We don’t really have a medical doctor with us, because Bruce-” Natasha frowns. “-sorry, Banner is missing, of course. He’d be our only real connection.”

Wanda feels the pain in her voice, and feels a tinge of sympathy for her. 

“What now?” Wanda asks, her throat feeling like sandpaper around her words. 

“We-” A few raps at the door stops Natasha. “Actually, dinner’s here. We’ll talk as a group.”

 

\-------------------------

 

The way they lounge around the dingy hotel room is funny to Wanda, in an odd way. It’s like a caricature of the Avengers, a weird interpretation of a normal existence. They all look strangely mundane among the bland room, looking strangely out of place among the grey paintings.

Steve is against the wall, choosing to stand in order to let the rest of them sit comfortably. There’s a piece of pizza in his hand, which also makes a laugh bubble in Wanda’s throat. She’s never seen the boy scout eat anything so unhealthy so happily, but he seems just as starved as she. He’s got the beginnings of a beard on his face, a thin layer of stubble. He’s in normal clothes for once, and beyond it all, he looks  _ tired. _

Natasha is perched in a chair, her legs folded neatly beneath her as she accepts a slice from Steve. She keeps eying Wanda, and it makes her uncomfortable. She’s used to the stares, the glances, but she’s not used to them being kind and caring. It makes her uneasy.

Sam immediately flocked to Wanda’s side as they entered, and he had yet to leave it, save to grab food. It was odd, but Wanda felt it too- a new sense of comradery between them, an unspoken bond formed through suffering aboard the prison. He’d looked like he was about to cry when he saw her, his brown eyes shiny as he batted away the tears with the back of a hand. Wanda didn’t have to peek into his mind to feel the guilt radiating off of him. 

And the last was perhaps the most intriguing, the one who Wanda knew the least about. Technically, she’d heard a lot of him, through Steve and Natasha; he’d been a big divide in the last conflict with Tony and the Accords, but she’d yet to formally meet him. 

Bucky Barnes sat in the farthest corner of the room, seemingly distancing himself as far as possible from the witch. He ate voraciously, just like his best friend, but his eyes never once strayed from the others in the room. His eyes were wild, skittish, and his posture too straight and strict. Wanda did not trust him, but she trusted Steve, and she hoped that was enough.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked her, the light conversation in the room finally redirecting itself at her. She swallowed a bite of pizza, grimacing as it hit her sore throat. 

“Alive.” She croaked, and she saw Sam wince beside her as she spoke. He quickly hid it with a bite of his dinner.

“Eat more. You’ll need the strength.” Steve advised, putting more food in front of her. He cracked a small, weak smile. “It’s not the healthiest, but I figure it’s better than anything you two got in that place.”

“I don’t know.” Sam said, tilting his head as if considering a difficult decision. “They had this oatmeal slop that tasted  _ just _ like a chocolate cake, let me tell you.”

Natasha and Steve chuckled, and it prompted Wanda to smile. It was just reflex at this point- she hadn’t really picked up on Sam’s joke, but she knew the correct response. 

Across the room, she noted that Bucky did the same. He didn’t crack a smile until Steve and Natasha did, and even then, it was just a fake mimicry of their actions. 

For once, Wanda wondered if this man had it worse than she did.

“What now?” Wanda asked, directing the question to Steve, but leaving it open for the rest to chip in. He seemed to know it was coming.

“I’m not sure.” Steve admitted, and she at least admired him for his honesty. His brow furrowed, his expression darker. “We stay on the run. Next is out of the UK, because this would be the most obvious place. It’s the closest country to the Raft, and the world must know that we are on the run by now.”

Wanda nodded. She didn’t quite grasp the gravity of the situation, because the only thing she could really feel is the exhaustion in her bones, in her head. She knew things would be different now, but she wasn’t quite sure what all that meant.

“We might have a few things to do on the way.” Steve added, but in a quieter tone, eyeing Wanda’s facial expressions as he delivered the words. She knew it was probably another topic for another time, an idea that may bring more hardships. Despite her curiosity, she didn’t pursue it. 

Wanda nodded, putting aside her plate. Steve had directed his attention away from her, thankfully, and was now asking Natasha about train tickets. Sam was engaged in the conversation and Bucky had closed his eyes long ago, and for once Wanda found all eyes away from her.

She felt her power humming through her, and she reached out to it gratefully.  _ This  _ is what grounded her, not the real things in the world around her. With it firmly in grasp, she reached out.

Reaching into people’s minds involved tricky footwork, like an obstacle course that only Wanda knew, and that was only partially at best. Each mind was different, a new signature, varying arrays of defenses. Some were open, some were closed off; some screamed to her, as if they were speaking only to her, while others whispered quietly behind closed doors.

If she dug her fingers in deep, they could feel it clearly. But if she skimmed her fingers across the surface, barely there, it would be practically non-existent. Like a graze of a hand an inch away from skin. She felt a pull to her powers, like always, but this time Wanda felt an urge to reach out, to skim. It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned with herself. Sometimes her powers were like stretching after a restful sleep- a want deep in her bones, one that felt like heaven once exercised.

So she reached out quietly, her face appearing like she was engaged in Steve’s conversation. Wanda  dipped her hands into their minds like a stream of water, grabbing a few ideas as she went. 

_ trains may take a while going across a long distance- _

__ _ can Wanda even take that long travel she’s half dead easy way to get cops on trail or worse whatever Tony does- _

__ _ is Steve gonna grab that last piece i’m starved man nothing like shitty prison food- _

__ _ we only have a few thousand what after that do we steal not right not moral- _

__ _ NO. _

__ The last voice screams so loud Wanda gasps despite herself, a raspy intake of air that burns her lungs. Her head throbs, the statement like a quick jab to her temple.

Bucky is eyeing her with that wild look in his eyes and he’s breathing hard, much harder than before. Wanda’s worried she’s triggered something deep in that animal, tortured part of him, worried he’s about to rip her to shreds. He throws himself to his feet, looking nothing like the Winter Soldier in his blue jeans and big hoodie, but yet exactly like him in his fierce mannerisms and furious gaze. Wanda has the decency to feel scared.

“Stay out.” Is all he says to her, and it’s not even a yell. More of a stern growl, and it’s enough to set Wanda on edge. Bucky, no matter what Steve believes, is more monster than human. Wanda would know- she was trained around them, exposed to them under Strucker. It was long ago, but it also felt like yesterday. She wouldn’t forget the soldiers they made.

Bucky is long gone, the door swinging behind him, still animated in his sudden departure. Steve is looking at Wanda in way that tells her he  _ knows _ , and she gives him the most stubborn, petulant look she can, pride welling up in her. But it’s Steve Rogers, and she can’t do that to him.

“You can’t do that.” Steve said simply, shaking his head. “I know you just got out of that place and it might’ve done some damage to you, kid, but you can’t do that.Maybe to us, but to him-”

Steve points out the door, towards the last place they saw Bucky’s form.

“-He’s had people poking around there for most of his life, doing terrible things.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda says, and it surprises her that she actually means it. She’d poked around in this poor man’s head and given him flashbacks to what they did. Wanda could understand, perhaps was the only one of them that truly could understand. After all, they were both born by the same evil hand. 

“She’s just stretching her legs.” Natasha says, defending Wanda; but the look she shoots her has a bit of distrust in her eyes. Wanda feels ashamed- not that she’d done it, but that she was caught. 

“They had you so drugged there you probably couldn’t even feel em.” Sam spoke up weakly, trying to defend her actions. “I couldn’t imagine it, I’d probably wanna test them out a little once I got better too. Hell, it’s probably like driving a new car again, still gotta relearn the brakes.”

Steve nods in agreement, and Wanda is relieved he doesn’t hold it against her; though she hates to admit it, Steve’s opinion means the world to her. He runs a hand over his face, scraping through stubble. He looks tired, a bit defeated.

“It’s okay Wanda, really. Just gotta keep that in check, especially around him.” Steve said, the stern scolding gone and instead replaced with the true Steve Rogers persona. He started leaving, instead turning back to the room as he paused at the door. 

“I’m gonna go find him. You all get some rest- we’ll head out early tomorrow.”

Wanda couldn’t help but wonder if it would be better if they didn’t find Bucky. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll go ahead and apologize- I love angsty fics way too much, and this is no exception. Thanks for everyone who read/commented/left kudos! Reading comments makes my day.

Bucky likes Scotland, he really does. 

It was a quaint little place, with the sea breeze trailing through the town, the smell of salt and ocean laying thick like a blanket. If he strained, he swore he could hear the ocean calling in the distance, waves lapping against a cliff. It was unlike any place he’d ever been at, as both Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier.

Well, if he were being honest, he didn’t remember many of the  _ excursions  _ he did as the latter identity. But he doubted it was ever in a lazy seaside town in the middle of god-knows-where-Scotland. He would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb.

And he still does, to an extent; he’s walking through the city like a tourist, minus the enjoyment. His body aches, his head pains him, but it always does that. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, left over from the years he wasn’t quite himself. Hell, he isn’t himself now, but Steve’s here, and that’s a pretty damn good start, isn’t it?

It has to be, he tells himself strongly.  _ It’s going to be. _

He’s the reason they’re all outcasts now, the reason they’re all running from any authority that could recognize them. 

“It’s not your fault, Buck. There were a lot of things in those Accords that we didn’t agree with.” Steve told him one day over a cup of coffee. It was so damn domestic it hurt, left that ache inside him, wishing for a simpler time. He’d kill to take it all back.

Bucky didn’t respond, but Steve was used to silence by now.

“It’s not just you. I’m not gonna lie to you and say it wasn’t part of it- because it was. But Tony, the government- they don’t understand the restrictions.” Steve says, and he sighs; Bucky has a fleeting memory of a younger Steve, scrawny and let down, sighing over another lost fight. He takes a long drink of coffee. 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, all he can really say to that. He can’t tell Steve Rogers that they should’ve left him behind, should’ve signed those damn Accords or something, should’ve let him die somewhere so he didn’t take everyone down with him. He can’t say it to his face.

“I’m not taking your apologies.” Steve responds, a quick grin on his face, that same golden smile that he’d make after he taunted schoolyard bullies.  _ I can do this all day. _

And now they’re in some town in Scotland, prancing on the seashore, letting the witch recuperate before they travel more. The thought of her sets him on edge, and his stomach clenches.

He’d seen her at the airport, but he was preoccupied; Sam was all but dragging him across the interior, some young kid in a red suit spitting  _ webs  _ at them. Of all the weird shit he’d seen, that may take the cake.

He hadn’t even seen her face, just seen her with these weird powers, way too strong for a kid. For a person. 

Steve had mentioned her a few times, but after a while, the faces all run together.

But the powers don’t; he remembers those clearly. He remembers being briefed on his missions, being told what to expect when he hunted down victims. He remembers all of these strengths, so it’s no wonder he does the same to powers- a skill left over from a darker time.

“She’s a telepath, of sorts.” Steve had told him on the jet, while he squinted his eyes at the controls, trying to find some sort of language from them all. Bucky remembers his stomach dropping, feeling cold.

“Buck?” He’d echoed after a minute, after he froze. Steve Rogers wore his concern clearly, his heart always on his sleeve. He wore that side of him proudly, always had.

“I don’t want to be around her.” 

Steve looked almost let down, like he’d forgotten that Bucky was a hollow man. That he’d been carved from the inside out, his head explored and exploited like a robot. He was a shell of what he’d once been.

But he hated to let Steve down, so he tried. God, he tried.

“She’s part of the team, Buck. She’s a bright young kid, honestly, and is really honing in on her abilities-”

“No. I don’t want to be around her.” Bucky said firmly. He was sweating now, his hands shaking. “I can’t do that. God, I can’t do that again Steve. I can’t live like that, fingers in my head, god-”

“Hey, hey.” Steve said, and Bucky didn’t have the strength to scold him for acting like he was a child. He’d placed a hand on his shoulder, stabilizing him, his blue eyes startlingly bright.

“I can’t make promises right now. But she won’t get into your head, I won’t let her. She’s better than that, I swear.” 

Bucky didn’t trust his words much- not because Steve would ever lie, but because he didn’t trust anyone else. Barely Natasha, barely Sam, and definitely not the witch.

He was right, of course. His gut was always right.

He’d seen her after they brought her from the Raft- she looked like shit. She was half-dead, he could see that clearly. Even when she opened her eyes a while after that, and they sat around eating pizza like some fake family dinner they were desperately trying to piece together. She was still out of it, somewhere else.

She had these odd eyes, so green he didn’t like to look at them for too long. Like the green of Brooklyn parks, the ones tucked away, the ones he used to take meaningless girlfriends to a lifetime ago. Her features are so pointed, so delicate yet sharp. She’s got a weird kind of beauty that Bucky  _ hates.  _ It makes people trust her but she’s a witch, through and through.

He has to remind himself to breathe when he gets angry sometimes.

He found a bench outside of the beachside cliffs, overlooking a gorgeous ocean. He couldn’t see any man-made objects in his line of view, no touch of humankind, just the natural world. The city was behind him, the ocean in front of him. It was nice.

He still felt the gentle press of fingertips in his head.

Bucky shook his head gently, hoping to get the feeling out. It didn’t budge. 

He’d darted out of the motel before he could think, going solely off of his flight-or-fight response. He certainly wasn’t going to fight the witch; he couldn’t kill one of Steve’s teammates, one he thought so highly of. Maybe in the past, if Steve wasn’t watching, if he didn’t know. 

The thought makes him ashamed.

Bucky can feel Steve before he sees him; the man isn’t quiet, and he doesn’t bother to be. Sneaking up on an assassin, even a pitiful, broken one, isn’t a great idea, and even Steve keeps this in mind. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve says simply. He doesn’t sit on the bench next to him, doesn’t even look at him. He just stands nearby, as if he were another random person, coming to enjoy a serene view.

“I’m not taking your apologies.” Bucky says simply, and there’s no malice in his voice. He’s simply mimicking his best friend, hoping that the same kindness, the same beauty Steve possesses in his heart will find its place in his own. It’s probably a useless goal, but Bucky will try all the same.

Steve smiles, a small grin on his face. 

“She’d apologize to you too, if she gets the chance. I know she would.” Steve says simply. Bucky grits his teeth.

“I told you I couldn’t be around her. I’m not changing my mind on that.” Bucky responds. Steve isn’t pleased, but he tries his best not to show it; Bucky can just read him like a book, can see his body tense up.

“She’s been through hell on that Raft, Buck. We don’t even know the half of it- Sam told us as much as he could, but they weren’t near each other in there.” Steve sighs, deep and saddened. “But even what he told us was horrific.”

“So that gives us an excuse to act out?” Bucky says the words before he can hold them back. Steve looks at him then, sudden and worried; his eyes are sharp and his angular face pointed and intrigued. Bucky closes his eyes.

In truth, it’s one of the longest conversations Bucky has had in months. It feels weird to be talking so much, and Steve notices this. He also noticed Bucky’s use of the word  _ us.  _

Two HYDRA puppets, two tortured souls. 

The thought makes Bucky recoil. He’s right, about earlier- if Steve weren’t here, if Steve weren’t some odd in-between that balanced out the anger, the malice, he and the witch probably would’ve killed each other by now. HYDRA puppets never coexisted- they simply weren’t born with the ability.

“No, it doesn’t. But I guess she’s never had someone able to pick up on it so well, before now.” Steve responded, his voice for once a mystery, one that Bucky couldn’t place a finger on.

When the witch touched his mind, it was like prodding an open wound, like touching a nasty bruise; his mind feels swollen, healing from overuse, healing from being fucking  _ scrambled.  _

“Yeah.” Bucky laughs, but it’s a harsh sound. “Serves her right. Need to keep her on a leash.”

“I thought you’d understand her.” Steve snaps, and for once Bucky feels real, harsh remorse. “You were both born out of this same sick goal, used to do evil, evil things. I thought you’d understand her, and her you.”

Bucky doesn’t speak, doesn’t have a response. Just like that, he’s back to the silence, to the sullen, stony mask. He doesn’t have anything to add to that.

“Just try to understand, Buck. Her abilities are all she knows. She was just stretching her legs back there, after she’d been without on the Raft. Doesn’t mean she did the right thing, ‘cause she didn’t. But she’s just a kid, Buck, and we’re all she’s got.” 

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond to that. He hates himself for it- the man he once was, before HYDRA, is ashamed to think it. But he’s wondering if perhaps it would’ve been better to leave her on the Raft.

“I’ll give you some time alone. I’ll be back at the motel whenever you’re done.” Steve says, and Bucky is grateful for the return of silence.

 

\----------------

 

Washing her hair is a downright religious experience, Wanda thinks. After the days, theweeks on the Raft, a place not exactly known for its hospitality, this is like dying and going straight to heaven. Even if Wanda is pretty sure she’s already too damned to buy a ticket there. 

The Raft’s showers were little more than a steel block, reinforced with every kind of defense you could dream of. It was cold, dingy water that was almost painful to stand under. Wanda wasn’t sure if soap was involved- even if it was, they still kept her strapped into some complicated knot, her hands firmly behind her back.  _ Bastards _ . 

But this Scottish motel is straight nirvana, and Wanda wants to cry. She turns the water so hot it burns her skin, but even then she wants it hotter. Boil away any evidence of the past month. 

There’s voices outside, outside the bathroom door. 

For a moment there’s a shock of terror that races through her, like a stab through the heart. Power thrums at her fingertips, lacy red threads surrounding her. 

She knows she locked the door, and that the voices are familiar- Steve and Natasha, talking in hushed tones. But her heart is still threatening to burst out of her chest. She barely even feels the steady stream of water on her skin.

 

_ They’re talking. Hushed whispers. They try not to sound nervous, but she can hear it anyways. She doesn’t have the energy to sneer. Her face won’t move. _

__ _ Her head is full of cotton, her eyes bleary and swollen. She can’t move, even if she didn’t have the straps around her arms. _

__ _ The whispers are louder and they’re screaming at her now, even if it’s so, so quiet. It’s all she can hear, all she can think about, and it’s coming from their mouths, from their heads, from their thoughts- _

__ _ “Can she hear us?”  _

__ _ It’s a voice, and something inside Wanda remembers. She can’t place it, can’t organize her own thoughts from the ones around her. _

__ _ “We don’t know. Been like a zombie since we got her here.”  _

__ _ She blinks in agreement, even if it’s only for herself.  _

__ _ “Probably the wisest choice. She simply doesn’t know her own strength.”  _

__ _ Their footsteps move and Wanda can feel for once, can clearly feel their minds getting closer. She’s feeling that familiar tingling in her fingertips, like a limb coming out of numbness. If she had the energy, she would smile, deliriously. _

__ _ Curiosity has a hold of her- she can’t place the man, can’t identify her voice but she knows him. His voice sets dread in her. With the scream of muscles, the deadness of numbed limbs, the ache of a bruised body, she moves her head. It’s a slight movement from her position against the wall, a slight tilt in their direction. It takes everything, every ounce of energy from her. _

__ _ She sees the man, and suddenly her mind is clear. She knows him, from many, many years ago. His face makes her blood run cold. This situation is much, much worse than she could’ve ever imagined. _

__ _ They’re screaming, but there’s no noise that reaches her ears. They’re scared, scared of her, because she should’ve still been under. It’s almost funny, and she would’ve laughed, because they don’t realize how weak she is. She couldn’t even lift a finger if she tried. _

__ _ She feels the shock at her throat, and her body reacts- it’s all pain, and she couldn’t fight it off if she tried. _

 

__ “Wanda? Wanda, I’m coming in if you don’t-” 

Natasha is yelling, her fists hitting the door. There’s water in Wanda’s eyes and bruises on her knees. She must have fell in the shower, though she didn’t feel it.

Natasha is shaking the doorknob, the one that Wanda locked ‘just in case’. She should trust her team, the ones that have always saved her, and she’s ashamed that she doesn’t. She’s more ashamed of the fact that Natasha realizes this.

But those are worries for a different time. She’d just understood something she wasn’t supposed to, and it makes her feel dirty. There’s knots in her stomach, swallowing her whole.

She wraps a towel around her frame, ignoring the poor state she’s in- it doesn’t matter. None of it does. 

It’s only the man. It’s the man who matters, the one she saw on the other side of the glass. Dark glasses, dark beard, nervous stance. A poorly hidden gun underneath a thick, expensive coat. It’s so ingrained in her brain, so etched in there that it’s a wonder she didn’t remember it every time she closed her eyes.

“Jesus, Wanda, you’ve gotta talk to us-” Natasha is cut off when she opens the door. She looks so worried, so concerned. Wanda is almost touched.

Steve blushes and looks away, uncomfortable with her state. 

“On the Raft.” She chokes out, closing her eyes,  _ remembering.  _

She can picture the man, clear as day, from another time- standing over Pietro. He shouts something at him, some twisted form of insult that they call encouragement. His toe nudges her brother’s side roughly, and she wants to scream at him. There’s blood spilling from Pietro’s lips. 

“There was a HYDRA agent.” 

Steve’s response is immediate, his thick brows furrowing and confusion clearly on his features- he doesn’t believe her, she realizes, because his emotions are strong. They’re always strong, stubborn and a smack in the face. He doesn’t believe her.

“That doesn’t make sense.” He responds, shaking his head. “Wanda, they had you under for most-”

“I know what I saw.” Wanda says, and she can’t help the bite in her voice. He doesn’t understand, maybe never truly will. 

“There’s no way a HYDRA agent got into one of the most secluded, heavily-guarded prisons in the world. It’s impossible, Wanda.” Steve says her name softly, like he’s trying to lessen the blow. It doesn’t cushion his words a bit.

“You don’t get it.” Wanda says, and she’s pulling at the ends of her hair, needing to hold onto something. Red threatens to leave her fingertips. “I  _ felt  _ him, felt his mind again. You both- you don’t understand. Everyone has their own feel, and I remembered him.”

“Wanda-”

“No.” She holds out a hand. “He was with Pietro and I at one point, back in- in Sokovia.”

She hasn’t said the word in so long that she’d almost forgotten the ache it leaves in her chest.

Natasha isn’t surprised. She never is, Wanda thinks; she takes everything as if it is truth, and goes from there. She’s studying Wanda with a hardened look, looking straight through her. If Wanda didn’t know better, she’d say that Natasha was the telepath.

“It’s not that far of a stretch.” Natasha finally spoke up, shooting Steve a glance. They they look at each other, a conversation between them that not even Wanda can understand. Steve is still tense, shaking his head. For a second, Wanda wonders if he would believe Bucky if he were telling him this. It makes her sour.

“I don’t like the implication that it brings.” Steve says stubbornly, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his face, his mind far away. 

“You don’t have to like it. It’s the truth- they’re everywhere.” Natasha says, and Wanda is surprised at the bite in her voice. 

“So what does it mean for us?” Steve asked, not necessarily to them; it was more of an open-ended question, one he didn’t expect the answer to. Wanda didn’t have to skim his mind to realize what he was thinking- she could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the balled fists, the concern in his eyes. 

For a moment she was surprised at the response- she had no idea he’d be this reactive to the news, this interested in the fact that they were still hunting after her, trying to tie up their loose ends. But she’d forgotten she wasn’t the only test subject, wasn’t the only human they toyed with. 

Bucky. Of course. He was far more concerned with his safety, which was to be expected- best friends through the century, of course the tie would be strong. She couldn’t help the flair of jealousy, though, bright and bitter in her. 

Again, she wondered if they cared about her, or if their protection was out of responsibility. Without Pietro, she was the bitter, unsocial twin, the volatile one that they’d probably be safer without.

Maybe they wouldn’t mind if HYDRA tied up their loose ends, as long as Bucky was excluded from the bloodbath.

“How is he?” Wanda asks, her voice still rough from the past month. She tries to hide the shame hidden in there- she doesn’t care, shouldn’t care. He’s a monster, a monster with a handsome face from Brooklyn, and she sees right through it. All HYDRA pets are monsters, and she’s not prideful enough to even exclude herself from that count.

“He’s okay.” Steve responds, seemingly grateful for the change in conversation. His face is still stony though, still worried. It’s become a natural look on him, she thinks.

“He’ll be fine.” Natasha tells her; Wanda wants to roll her eyes. The two are funny like that- a mother and father figure for every outcast, every freak they can find. She’s grateful for it, of course, and her annoyance comes with fondness. She is partial to one half of the equation- Natasha.

She doesn’t trust men as much anymore, even if they have a golden heart and pretty face. Steve is admirable, but he doesn’t understand. Natasha doesn’t fully, even with her time linked to HYDRA- it’s been years since she’s been tied in with them, and the modern HYDRA is different. It makes the past look like a child’s game. 

Wanda wants to say she’s sorry, sorry for threatening  your monster friend, but she doesn’t. She knows the apology isn’t for them, but they’re the only ones that she  _ wants  _ to give it to. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

“I like your hair.” Steve said, trying to motion to her  hair, trying not to be awkward, trying no to  _ try too hard.  _ He’s strained and uncomfortable, like a man out of his element, but he means it.

It makes Wanda cry later, when she’s back in her room. Makes her curl into a ball and shove her face into a pillow, pretty new hair included, and sob. 

They’d been in Poland for two weeks.

It took them four days to cross the channel into France, and then the line of trains across Europe, avoiding all the major cities and stops, always looking over their shoulders. Wanda had found new ways to sleep on a train, new ways to squeeze her body into an uncomfortable bend to pretend like she wasn’t on a train across Europe, but rather in an orphanage bed, wrapped around her brother.

She’d give up the world for that again. Young, poor, and filthy, before they were used. Miserable and wanting, but not suffering. Not yet. 

And so it’s Steve’s comment that nails her in the heart, striking an already weak soul. It makes her realize that there isn’t any going back now. 

It’s stupid, and she knows that, even as fat tears blend into flimsy cotton pillowcase. They’d been on the run for almost three weeks, and it should’ve set in before. But it happened just then, after Natasha had painted her hair and then Steve had felt the need to comment, like they were being pushed, shoved into her life. New parents, squeezing and squirming, trying to force their square beings into triangular holes. 

Pietro was gone, and so was the last bit of safety she’d desperately grabbed on to after he passed. 

“Hey, kiddo.” Natasha says, lightly pushing open the door to Wanda’s small, homely room. Wanda kicks herself for leaving it ajar- she feels vulnerable with tears streaking her face, and so she pulls the pillow to her nose, a childlike mask.

“What?” She demands, defensive. She’s fine. Everything’s fine.

“I know this must be hitting you hard.” Natasha said, awkwardly thumbing the weathered door frame. And, for once, the beautiful spy is out of her element, awkward and fumbling. Wanda could’ve laughed.

“Actually, fuck the comfort talk.” Natasha says quickly, changing her demeanor instantly.

“I already have Steve as my mother.” Wanda grumbles, despite her best attempts to stay quiet and be alone- her best tactic.

Natasha snickers, a corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “That’s more like the Wanda I know.”

Wanda frowns behind her pillow. The Wanda she knows only existed for a finite number of days, willed into being under the perfect circumstances that then fell apart, just like everything else. Natasha didn’t know the real Wanda.

“We’re going to go train out back. I know you haven’t joined us yet, but we’re here if you want to. A good outlet.”

But if it’s fire they want, to reassure them that she’s not a shell- even though she is- then she supposes she can give them that. She has more than enough to spare.

 

\----------------

 

Bucky wonders if there will ever be a day he doesn’t fight.

It’s just a part of him now; like some of them have powers, building under their skin, begging to be used- he has his strength, his bite. It curls underneath his skin until all he wants to do is fight, restless and irritable.

Maybe it’s the circumstances, worsening an already severe need. He’d seen it in Steve and Sam here, too, and definitely in Nat- always in Nat. It was different, training while in hiding. It was no longer preparing for what may happen, it was preparing for what  _ will  _ happen, someday.

So he joins them everyday in that backyard behind a small cottage in fucking god knows where, Poland, miles away from the nearest town. He wears the clothes Steve got him, eats the protein bars, even if nothing has taste anymore, and ties his hair back from his face with a tie.

“You’re getting slower, Sam.” Nat teases as she swipes a long, slender leg towards the man’s face; Sam barely responds in time, skirting out of her swing. He spits a curse.

“Woman, you’re going to give me a concussion.” Sam shot back, throwing a fist in her direction- Bucky is surprised it actually hits. It’s not much, with only faint momentum behind it, but it’s enough to make Nat rock back on her heels.

Steve pats Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “We have a few guns and a good amount of ammunition, if we want to focus on shooting.”

Bucky shakes his head. He’s held enough guns for a lifetime, even if he knows he’ll have to again someday, likely someday soon. 

“Hand to hand?” Steve offers instead- he’s soaked with sweat, already, coming back from a run in the mid-afternoon summer heat. 

Bucky nods quietly.

Fighting with Steve is rather predictable- not easy, never easy. They are like equals to one another, which should mean that the fight is a struggle. Bucky has found that it usually means they’re just mimicking similar steps, mirroring each other in a different variation on the same dance.

It’s not leisurely, not simple, but it’s repetitive and steady enough that Bucky notices when someone comes out the backdoor, quiet as ever.

It’s the witch.

A fiery hand grips his heart, and his adrenaline spikes, not just from the fight with Steve. He feels something hot and roaring inside of him, and he wants his hands on her, to strangle and touch and he doesn’t even fully know. Bucky has stopped trying to read these feelings- after going seventy years without them, it’s like trying to read an ancient script, not even of the same language. He doesn’t even know himself.

He does know that the witch doesn’t train with them. She’s too powerful, he thinks, poison in his mouth, in his heart. She’s probably just as skilled with Natasha with a gun, probably with the brute strength of Steve, and then the pure power underneath her skin. 

The witch needs to be contained, far, far away from him.

Even her appearance- so small and lithe, clothed in tight leggings and a thin sundress, her new hair a light brown that catches the sun. She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, in sheep’s  _ skin. _

__ Steve’s fist catches his chin.

And then, to Bucky’s surprise, his foot catches the back of Bucky’s knee, the fleshy, vulnerable skin there, and Bucky goes tumbling forward despite his best efforts.

“Gotta pay attention, Buck.” Steve says, and he’s grinning down at Bucky like he thinks he caught him spying on a girl. Bucky wants to laugh, because Steve doesn’t know that she’s not a girl, but a witch.

“What the hell was that?” Bucky says instead, allowing Steve to yank him up from the grass- he points to the foot that had downed him.

“Ah, Nat taught me.” Steve responds, and Bucky sees a little sparkle in his eye, a faint whisper of a smile on his face, as if reminiscing on the memory. 

“You’ve never done that before.” Bucky shoots back.

“We adapt.” His friend responds simply.

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he instead focuses on the sudden whoop across the backyard- it comes from Sam’s mouth, falling out as if he’d meant to keep it inside.

Sam is watching over the witch and Natasha as the two circle one another.

Steve runs off to watch, an intense look overtaking his handsome features. He looks concerned, like this is a battle he hadn’t planned for, hadn’t strategized. He’s eager to watch, more eager to learn.

Bucky decides to follow, but he stays a few steps away, farther than the rest. 

Natasha lunges at once, and the witch skitters back, frightened by the movement; Natasha doesn’t follow, simply going back to her previous pacing. 

The witch frowns. “I said let’s fight, Natasha, not walk around each other.”

Her voice is too sweet for a witch, too lilted, and Bucky wants to snarl at her to drop the act, drop the mask. 

Natasha lunges forward again this time, ignoring her comment, although she attacks this time. Just barely, a small punch landing to the witch’s ribs. She’d held her hands too low, Bucky thought, not protecting where it mattered.

But it didn’t matter, in that moment- Natasha had hit so lightly she’d barely even moved the fabric of her thin, gray sundress. It moved around her legs when she paced, and Bucky wondered if the witch had somehow enchanted the wind around her to make herself enticing.

The witch lunges forward, and Bucky can see a faint resemblance to the basic training Steve taught- but it was weak from disuse. 

Natasha takes the hit, and Bucky realizes her form isn’t from disuse. She’s testing Natasha, to see if she was pulling her punches- and she was. Natasha would’ve never let that clumsy punch hit her, if it were with anyone else.

The witch lets out a snarl. “You’re going easy on me.”

“You’ve been out a while.” Natasha responds smoothly, taking the failed test in stride. 

“And how am I supposed to learn, with you holding my hand?” The witch shoots back.

Natasha grabs her wrist quickly, twisting it behind her back. It’s a flimsy move, one that wouldn’t hold on larger targets. It was meant to simply incapacitate the small girl.

The witch seethes. “I need to learn offensive, not defensive.”

“No, you don’t. Not with your powers.” Natasha counters. “More than offensive enough. You lose that, you need to be waiting for us, defending only.”

The witch shakes her head sharply, her fists clenched tightly. Bucky can see the tension in her shoulders, the clench of her jaw. 

There was a part of him, though, that understood, even if he didn’t want to. To be trained only for one purpose, only to do one thing- maddening. In the way that he was trained only to kill on their command, she was trained as simply a human vessel for power. And without it, she was nothing. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was anything without HYDRA. 

He hoped.

But it’s the hatred that moves his feet forward, he tells himself, the burning emotion that eats at him and makes him want to show her just how little he likes her powers, her prying mental hands.

Natasha puts a hand on his arm, her face unreadable as she looks up at him. Stopping him. “She’s not ready to fight hand-to-hand, Bucky.”

“Bullshit.” The witch shoots back. She’s fiery, just like that feeling in him. He wonders if they feed off of one another. 

“Fine, you want to get your ass kicked?” Natasha finally snaps, anger such a rare emotion on her striking features. “Do it.”

“Gotta learn to do more than just  _ defend myself _ .” The witch sneers back.

Bucky circles her in the same motion that Natasha did, moving around the same path. He studies her good and hard then, like a cat identifying a mouse, finding out where to torment it first. 

He’s got to be at least twice her weight, even without his arm. She’s a little wisp of a thing, weathered away by the past. Her hair is swirling around her, behind her, her sundress moving and forming to her body as she shifts. Bucky feels his hair whip his own face and he realizes that she isn’t manipulating the wind to flatter herself, like he’d thought; that was just how she looked. Just how he perceived her.

The witch lunges, foolishly.

The arm that was poised to meet his jaw is instead grabbed by both of his hands; it’s easy. Too easy, and he’s surprised it’s over all that quickly. One twist of his arms and she’s down.

But the witch instead uses his grip against him; she goes sliding down, between his legs. Perhaps, if he had known her, he would’ve been prepared for her moves.

But Bucky doesn’t know the witch, and had never known her. She’s the exact opposite of Steve- unpredictable, wild, untamed.

He lightens his blow as his hits the ground by taking it on his shoulder, rolling onto his back, and then onto his feet in one quick motion. She got him on his back, and it seems to surprise Steve and Sam as well- they watch with bated breaths.

Bucky kicks a leg out, testing- she’s small enough that she hits the ground, flying back up after he’s moved his leg. But she isn’t expecting his fist to follow so soon, right into the area that she flings herself back into.

His real first hits her square in the face.

The crack rings out loud in the backyard, mingling with Steve’s gasp and Sam’s curse; Natasha is silent, but her silence is loud- this is why she pulls punches.

It happens so fast that Bucky isn’t sure what to feel- he forgot to breathe.

The witch straightens up, one hand clutching her nose, blood seeping between the fingers. Red, ruby red blood.

Scarlet.

“Do it again.” She says, a grin on her bloody mouth.

 

\---------------

 

They fight into the evening, much to Steve’s displeasure.

At the sight of blood he had thrown himself into the middle; but the witch had some sort of sway over him. Different than the way Natasha did, but of the same fondness. But even she has a hard time convincing him that it’s worth it.

Much to Bucky’s amusement, once Steve says a final no, listening to her argument to continue, the witch simply passes by him. Steve began to scold, and she simply made a rude gesture in his direction. 

Bucky almost wanted to laugh, even though he wasn’t sure if he could.  _ See _ , he wanted to tell Steve-  _ she’s just as much of a bitch as I told you _ . 

But Bucky still fought with her for a few hours, nonstop. If out of curiosity, if for nothing else. She was horribly untrained, from a large picture standpoint, her fighting style quick and spontaneous. She had the beginnings of training under Steve, mimicking his similar steps, but it would quickly devolve into odd things- moves he’d seen in the slums, a few he’d seen Russian army forces use, a few dirty tricks even he couldn’t place. 

The witch was a patchwork of uneven styles that he couldn’t place. She didn’t win against him, ever- but she continued.

He could respect her for that, a tiny shred of respect.

And by the end, she’d began to adopt a bit of his own movements, his own fighting styles. 

“Thank you.” She said finally, once the sun had began to set. It had left distracting colors on her, vibrant blood reds and oranges that made her vibrant and blinding, and Bucky had felt himself slip from the distraction. Likely another witch trick, he told himself.

Bucky doesn’t talk much, not after all that happened. There just wasn’t a  _ need  _ to, from the outside world or from inside himself.

But the witch, she confuses him. So he talks, because, for once, there’s a need, a need to understand.

“For breaking your nose?” He asks gruffly. She looks at him, her snake-green eyes narrowed, studying him. It’s the first they’ve ever spoke to one another.

“Yes.” The witch says simply. “It’s how to learn. I won’t let you make that move again.”

And she hadn’t. Every time his fist had shot out towards her, she’d changed her style completely to match it, to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

She was a complete, absolute mess with hand-to-hand, but she was smart.

 

\-----------------

 

They meet the next day, and the one after that.

It’s unsaid, and they fall into it naturally. The others watch, occasionally, trying to keep a hold on everything. But it’s already out of their control, already something they hadn’t ever predicted.

“I could help you, as well.” The witch said quietly one day after they had finished, after the sun had set into the sky. The others always finish before them- they have no reason to push themselves like she does, or they are possibly smart enough to know not to. 

Bucky is drinking the last of his tall bottle of water, eyeing the witch, illuminated in the odd dusk of summer, her blonde-brown hair framing her cat-like face, and he wonders what she could ever help him with. She’d be his end, likely, someday. He still hadn’t identified the feelings in him, but they threaten to eat him whole some days.

“I know how to protect minds.” The witch says simply. And suddenly she is the key to it all, and it must be fate, damning him for his past. Of course, the holder of what he desires most is an evil, beautiful witch, a wolf in his house.

“You can’t protect minds.” Bucky says simply, even though he wants to leave her right then and there, wants to run far away from the witch that can both protect and destroy. 

“When they were testing me, they brought in another telepath.” Wanda tells him, and her voice is so hollow and faraway that although he meets her eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, he doesn’t feel like she is here.

“And I won.” The witch said simply.

Bucky doesn’t respond to her, but he thinks that’s okay- she walks away after a moment, that hollow look back in her eyes, the heaviness in her step. He’s seen it far too many times, far too often in himself. But he watches her go back into the cottage anyways, even though there’s a part of him that is pained.

The witch confuses him. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Wanda just needs a hug. And Bucky needs, like, ten. I’m sorry I like torturing these poor characters so much.

“What are we doing next?” Wanda asks.

Natasha and Steve never respond to the question, even when it starts coming on a daily basis; they just give each other The Look and shrug, sometimes shifting uncomfortably. Sometimes finding another problem to attend to. Sometimes pretending like they didn’t hear.

So she asks it at dinner one night, over a plate of grilled chicken and a wide assortment of vegetables, all looking too colorful and pretty on her plastic plate.

Steve visibly tenses, a fork halfway to his mouth. Natasha continues picking at her broccoli, as if the question wasn’t there. Hanging between them all.

Sam frowns from beside her, as if he hadn’t really  _ thought  _ about it. He’d never really been on the run before, never had to think about those questions, Wanda assumes.

Bucky is watching her, with those dark eyes that are always taking in everything, never giving anything back. 

“Are you just going to keep ignoring me, then?” Wanda snaps at the silence, breaking her plastic fork in process. A piece hurts her hand, a sting of pain going through her, but it only serves to make her angrier.

“What do you want to hear, Wanda?” Steve sighes, playing his role, The Man of the House. Wanda feels like she’s stepped into an alternate reality, the past few days, whenever she steps into the house. It’s dinner around the table, with Father Steve and Mother Natasha and Uncle Sam and whoever the fuck Bucky is. 

“I want answers. I want some sort of plan, instead of sitting around, waiting to die.” She answers. Wanda doesn’t raise her voice often, but she knows she has a way of making her words  _ sting _ . When she used to sift around in their heads, they were always taken aback, slightly frightened when she’d used that tone. She didn’t do that anymore, though.

“We’re safe here.” Natasha answers back, her mouth half full of food. She’s so unaffected by it all, even though Steve has his feathers ruffled at the disturbance in his perfect-American -family-dream.

“Until we aren’t.” Wanda shoots back. “Do we just wait out our days here? Waiting to die of old age, or die by someone else’s hand?”

Sam takes a loud swallow next to her, and it only sets her more on edge. 

“She’s right, though.” He says quietly, not meeting their eyes. 

“I-,” Steve sighes, pushing his plate away from him in favor of running a large hand over his face, trying to ease his tension. “I didn’t want to get hopes up. But we’re in  _ talks  _ with some American diplomats, someone Vision put us in touch with-”

The name sets Wanda on edge.

They’d been friends, once, perhaps closer if it had been another period, another lifetime. He’d had a good soul, a kind heart. She didn’t want him to be around her anytime soon. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

“I’m not talking about going back to that life.” Wanda says simply. The others at the table trade their devoted attention from Steve to Wanda- changing their interest to a confusion. Even Bucky seems for once engaged in the conversation, seemingly intrigued.

“That’s what we’re aiming for.” Steve shoots back, frowning. 

“Let Wanda speak.” Natasha says, not unkindly. She has a way with Steve, a way that if used by anyone else, it would be rude. “I’m curious.”

Wanda tilted her chin up, pressing her mouth into a thin line. 

“When are we going to hunt down the remaining HYDRA agents? To figure out why they were on the Raft?” 

\-----------------

 

Bucky has long gotten used to the taste of bland food, used to pushing it around his plate until Steve had sighed and acted like it was enough. 

But once he’d started sparring with the witch, his appetite had appeared from nowhere; he supposed it had to of been the new, strenuous training. But he’d been doing that for a while, with Steve, so it didn’t all add up. But Steve always looked so damn happy to see him shoving food down his mouth, and for once it actually felt right, so he continued.

If he were being honest, the food Steve made for them wasn’t  _ that  _ bad. It was definitely healthy, suited to Steve’s strict tastes, but after not having an appetite for seventy years, it was pretty alright.

His dinner was ruined by the witch, though; she had a talent for disrupting the little bit of sanity he’d develop. Especially when she’d stop picking at her food to instead pick fights. She was interesting to watch eat, like some furious little bird. 

“When are we going to hunt down the remaining HYDRA agents? To figure out why they were on the Raft?” The witch said, scowling, her delicate features turned sour.

Bucky stiffened, and Steve almost turned to look at him. Almost. Instead, he’d engaged the witch, trying to put out the fire she’d just set ablaze.

“What the fuck?” Sam sputtered, looking at the witch incredulously. 

“Oh, did they not tell you?” She laughed, humorlessly. “Yeah, they were on the Raft-”

“Wanda. This is unnecessary.” Steve said sternly. Bucky knew it was the wrong move. The witch talked like she fought nowadays- with a untamed vengeance that only strengthened with opposition. 

“-drugging me, electrocuting the shit out of me, the usual, you know.” 

“That’s-” Sam is grasping for words, his mouth flopping like a fish. For once, he’s left out of the talks, just like Bucky always is. Bucky would almost feel smug, but he’s far too invested in this conflict.

HYDRA. 

It would follow him, wherever he went. He thought it would be okay, if it were just him, but now they were stalking the witch, too. Maybe it was even more dangerous for them to be near one another- a two-for-one package deal, HYDRA’s most wanted. The killing machines that got away.

“We were going to decide what to do once we got back to America.” Natasha answered for Steve, putting a hand on his from across the table. Bucky sees the look in her eyes, though- she doesn’t believe Steve’s words, doesn’t agree with them. She wants to fight them just as much as the witch does.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” The witch seethes, and for once, she points a thin finger at Bucky from across the table. The whole table tenses, save for Bucky. If she wants to fight him, wants to attack him, he’s ready. He’s always ready for her. 

“They aren’t going to let me back there, and they sure as hell aren’t going to let  _ him.”  _ The witch says, still firmly jabbing her finger in his direction. Steve, for once, looks positively furious. Natasha is still calm. 

“We’re the reason all of this even happened, if you can look away from that damn feud of yours, Steve.” The witch says. 

For once, Natasha’s mask is broken; she looks away, takes her hand away from Steve’s. Her eyes are closed, squeezing shut in a way that looks pained. 

“So if you want a world where he and I aren’t hunted, then we need to find them.” 

And the witch makes a grand exit after that, throwing her chair back. She stalks off into the woods behind the house, slamming the screen door behind her. Bucky watches her leave, takes in the thin form of her, the slight curves revealed by her gray sundress. It’s an inopportune time to notice, but there will never be a good time. 

“That’s fucking messed up that you didn’t tell us, Steve.” Sam says. He’s still shaking his head, staring down into his plate as if he can’t believe it.

“It’s just another thing out of our control.” Steve tries to say, defensively.

“They were torturing her in there, man.” Sam says, and his voice is low and raspy, like he’s relieving it all again. “They were killing her, slowly, and she told you it was people who have been after her her whole life- people who shouldn’t be involved with the Raft, ever.”

A pained look crosses Natasha’s face, and she drops her head into her hands. Bucky wants to lay a hand on her shoulder, tell her  _ it’s okay, I always knew they’d follow.  _ But he can’t move, not yet.

“I know you want to lay low, keep us all safe. But she’s never going to be safe- hell, she’s probably not gonna relax, not gonna be able to  _ sleep  _ with them still out there.” Sam responds, biting his cheek with a shake of hit head.

Steve hasn’t responded. He’s staring at a cabinet behind Natasha, his face impassive. Stony. Bucky has only seen him like this a few times, and it’s enough to make even him feel bad. 

“Just think about that, man. Think about it.” Sam repeats, and he’s left the table as well. Not a grand exit, like the witch, but a simple slip into the hallway, away from the scene that had just took place.

And then Natasha slips off like a shadow. Her face is no longer showing emotion- she’s back to her normal self. It’s probably an even worse sign, but Bucky is shit with emotions, so he’s grateful for it.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to Steve, either, so he slips out the backdoor, following in the witch’s footsteps. He leaves Steve sitting at the table in silence, his head in his hands. 

 

\----------------

 

Wanda feels herself bubbling over, feels it all burning inside of her. Seething, eating at her insides. She wants to scream, to cry, to do anything to let it out. But she’s smarter than that. 

She’s angry as hell at Steve, even at Natasha, for choosing silence, even if she seemed swayed by Wanda’s words. Maybe, even enough to want to hurt them. But she doesn’t want to kill them.

So Wanda breaks into a run as she hits the treeline. She holds her breath, and thinks of happy things, however few in number they are:  _ Pietro. Daisies. Old books. The coffee shop next door to the Avengers tower. Movie night with the group. Chai tea. Vintage acoustic guitars. Vision.  _

__ And when she gets far enough away from the house, she takes in a big gulp of air, and she screams.

The trees around her buckle, their leaves disintegrating, the soil around them ruining in an instant. Her ruby flames shoot out and do what they do best- they destroy. They maim the area around her, leaving little more than soot-covered ground and the ashes of once was what life. All save for the little patch of land beneath her feet. That, she crumbles into.

And then the tears come, hot and angry. Wanda hates crying, but she hates anger more than that. But it’s all she feels lately, anger pushing her forward, anger keeping her striving for vengeance, for answers, for revenge, for fulfillment. Even her anger doesn’t know what it’s searching for.

She hears Bucky approaching before he talks. He’s a large man, and he doesn’t bother masking his steps. It’s smart- making sure she hears him, making sure she doesn’t destroy him like she did the pretty parcel of land around her.

“Get up.” Is all he says, low and rough. 

Wanda can’t help but mask the shot of anger that goes through her.

“No.” She shoots back, digging her heels into the dirt below her, steeling her palms into the patches of grass she left behind.

“We’re going to fight.” He says simply. 

“Fuck off.” She says simply.

“No.” 

Wanda closes her eyes, gritting her teeth, hoping that when she opens them and looks over her shoulder, he’s gone. 

But Wanda has never been a lucky person. He’s still standing there in his plain, navy shirt, his sweatpants, his hair pulled back into a sloppy bun behind his head. He’s handsome, even when he’s an infuriating, stupid man. One with a brain that’d been through a blender, multiple times.

“I’m not in the mood.” She says, hoping he’ll leave, from the venom in her voice.

But Bucky had never been scared of her, and she knows that. Angry, pissed, and hateful towards her, perhaps, but never fearful.

“I don’t care.” He says simply. Wanda feels cold, inhuman fingers thread through her hair, in the back. For a moment, she wonders what it would feel like in a another situation, running through her hair as they were preoccupied with one another in a  _ very  _ different sense.

But then he’s pulling her, and she’s scrambling to her feet against her will, a curse on her tongue.

“Let’s. Fight.” Bucky says again. 

She twists her fingers, and a little tendril of fiery scarlet lashes out at his face- not enough to break the skin, but enough to make him feel a bite of pain.

Bucky snarls, slapping it away. “That’s not playing fair.”

“I’m not fighting.” Wanda echoes, again, but this time he’s lunging towards her, grabbing her arm. And suddenly she’s twisting into the ashes she created, her face smearing into the gray substance, still warm from the sudden fire.

She lets out an angry snarl, and she realizes it’s not a choice anymore. She fights back.

They spar, back and forth, for almost twenty minutes. It’s not fair, not that they ever  _ were  _ fair with one another. Wanda is shooting out small bursts of energy with her powers, enough to set him back a few steps, or get him off of her when he has her pinned. He’s fighting, unashamed, with his metal arm taking most of the attacks and in turn dealing most of the damage.

Wanda creates a shield of bright red around her the moment his metal arm comes down; he hisses at the contact, seeing the sparks fly from where they connect.

“Truce,” Wanda says, not really asking. Bucky ignores her, shoving a foot under her shield to sweep her legs out from under her. She hits the ground, air shooting out of her lungs in a heartbeat, winded.

“I said truce, you bastard.” She spits at him.

“Are you done?” Bucky asks simply. Strands of his dark hair have migrated out of its holdings, falling around his face, sticking to his skin with sweat. Wanda looks elsewhere.

“Yes.” Wanda snarls. In a second, he’s standing above her, holding a hand out. The human one.

She pushes it out of the way as she stands for herself, on shaky legs. She feels like a doe just learning to walk, completely exhausted at everything she’d just put into the fight. They’d never fought like that before.

Bucky is standing just a foot or so away from her, what should be too close for comfort. He’s got to have at least a hundred pounds on her, probably more, and a foot taller than her, as well. But she knows, even if she hates it, she trusts him. If he wanted to, he could’ve snapped her neck at any moment when they fought. 

“So you don’t have a problem with all of this?” Wanda asks, biting her cheek. She would her lip, but she can feel the coppery tang of blood coming from it.

Bucky looks at that bit of blood, at her lip. His face is conflicted.

“HYDRA has never stopped chasing me.” He says simply. “It’s not a surprise.”

“Doesn’t it mean anything to you, to know it got worse? To know they’re out there in some of the most secret places in the world?” Wanda seethes, throwing a hand out. She wants to shake him.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Bucky says, and it makes Wanda physically recoil in shock. The words sound so foreign on his tongue, so weird coming from his mouth. So unexpected.

“Thank you.” She says, even though the interaction makes her feel vulnerable, and that’s the last thing she wants.

“We fight,” Bucky tells her, for once, looking her in her eyes, not flinching from her stare ,”because it makes you angry.”

“Sounds like a good way to get yourself killed.” Wanda scoffs.

“It’s better to be angry than to be nothing at all.” He says, simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Wanda feels the anger inside of her, festering, boiling over, attacking those closest to her, those who aren’t responsible for it. Those who don’t deserve it.

But if she didn’t have that, she would be nothing. She’d probably be dead, by now.

“You stop feeling anything, they win.” Bucky says, as if seeing her thoughts. His eyes are so intense, so fiery, that it almost makes her worried. She’s never seen him like that before, so angry. 

“We won’t let them win.” Bucky finishes, his mouth a tight line. 

_ We. _

For once, Wanda smiles. It’s not a pretty, happy smile- it’s tough, angry, and vengeful, but she supposes it’s better than nothing.

 

\---------------

 

They make it back to the house after the sun is already set. 

Wanda realized halfway back the poor state she was in- covered in ash and dirt, some spots of blood dotting her. She tore her dress, trailing up the skirt, a shred through the opposite side. She wonders if Bucky noticed, and if the way he keeps glancing at her is any indication, he did.

There’s no one in the living areas when they get back. The house would seem deserted if not for the thin strip of light underneath Steve’s door, announcing his presence. Wanda doesn’t bother being quiet. She stomps, she slams the door, she seethes. 

If Steve wants to treat her like a young, petulant child, then she’d damn well live up to the role. Hell, she’d  _ rewrite  _ it.

“Get some sleep.” Bucky says to her, quietly, once they’re inside. It’s the first time he’d made some sort of weird effort to make her take care of herself; she wonders if it’s maybe just his way of saying goodnight.

“Night.” Wanda says simply, not even looking back at him, though his eyes stare a hole through her back as she retreats.

And back in her room, she still feels angry, upset, but it’s dulled. Contained. Maybe Bucky just has a way of taking the edge off of things, keeping the whole place safe. Taking one for the team by beating the shit out of her.

The  _ other  _ option of taking the edge off, with someone, has her cheeks burning. 

There’s a knock at her door the moment she slinks into her desk chair, pressing her knees into the bottom of her chin, folding herself up. She already knows who it is, and she contemplates ignoring him outright. But that was too childish, even for her.

“Come in.” Wanda says icily.

Steve pokes a head around the corner- she can already tell he’s tense and stressed, losing his usual kindness and pleasant demeanor in a heartbeat. She feels a little guilty, knowing she’s responsible for that. Not guilty enough to regret her actions, though.

“We need to talk about all of that.” Steve says, not bothering to sugarcoat it for her. Good. She’d had enough sugarcoating, enough withheld information to protect her, for a goddamn lifetime.

“Yes, we do.” Wanda shoots back cooly. He takes a place, sitting on the edge of her quilt-covered bed.

“You were right.” Steve admits. “We should’ve told everyone, for one thing, and we should be going after them. It’s not safe to be anywhere right now if they’re still out there.”

“So?” Wanda presses. Steve sighes.

“So I say let’s get started.” Steve says, pressing her with a stern, heavy gaze. There’s a flicker in his eyes, that damn strength and virtue that he was known for flickering to life. 

Wanda grins.


End file.
